This Mortal Coil
by jsupler
Summary: Red's attempts at suicide are hindered by the interference of a Tuurngait presence in his mind that does everything it can to keep him from doing so.


"O, that this too too solid flesh would melt," the miner recited boisterously, "Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd his canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, seem to me all the uses of this world!"

A small congregation of baby rats had gathered behind the entranced man, the latter of which was speaking directly to a wall off which his proud voice echoed and created the illusion that he was omnipresent within his den of iniquity - his hunting ground, his kingdom. His prolonged, Shakespearean discourse carried through the lair and bounced off the rocky walls, amplifying his persona to the proportions of what the miner could only speculate was what a god's voice must sound like. It was only in these moments in which the miner fooled himself into thinking he was a god that he felt truly alive - the master of his land. The master of his fate. Every other moment was tragically anything but.

"She married," the miner sighed, a more somber tone creeping into his once-hectic speech, "O, most wicked speed, to post with such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good: but break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue."

A disheveled rat larger than the baby ones assembled behind the miner emerged from the wall that served as the latter's audience, and he spotted the creature as immediately as it appeared. Darkness provided no cover now - three decades spent in the dark had given the miner the means to see everything that hid in it.

At first, the miner was struck with a sense of relief that someone had come to play the role of Horatio and fulfill the rest of the scene with him, but after a moment had passed he realized how very hungry he was and how appetizing this rodent appeared to be. He paused and scratched at his scruffy beard, as if waiting for the rat to say, "Hail to your lordship!"

**Go on, Red...there's today's feast.**

Said one of the many voices residing within the miner's head. It had taken to calling him by the nickname the rest of the mine workers had given him when he was fourteen and still working the mines. It made the voice seem even more diabolical than Red initially perceived it to be, like it was trying to play some kind of twisted mind game with him.

Red pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to stave off the rush of pain hearing the voice had brought on, and began murmuring sweet nothings to himself. He was a fool, however, to think that the mere sound of his own voice could soothe him. He needed another voice, a tangible one - not one borne of a mind ravaged by madness, but a real voice that could shine through the darkness of his prison and save him.

The miner sporadically spent days pondering what that kind of voice would actually save him _from._ The only conclusion he had made was a haunting one: he wanted someone to save him from himself.

Pretending as if the rat was indeed Horatio, Red continued determinedly, "I am glad to see you well, Horatio - or do I forget myself."

"The same, my lord," the rat said humbly, "and your poor servant ever." The majority of Red's deteriorated mind believed the rat to be verbally fluent, although a small part of him was aware it was just another voice in his head maintaining the illusion of a conversation. Even so, Red was grateful to this second voice for helping the rat speak his lines. It was certainly a nicer voice than the one urging him to _eat_ the pitiful little animal.

"Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you," Red continued, feeling a bit more at ease now. "And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?"

The miner paused again, waiting for someone to take the role of Marcellus, even if it was just another voice in his head that did so. At least then he wouldn't feel so lonely.

**I believe thou hast gone on long enough!** the hostile voice shouted sardonically, making Red yelp and sink to his knees, his hands pressed against his ears in a futile attempt to shut the voice out. **You're starving to death down here and you're wasting a potential meal in favor of it being a ****_companion?_**

"It is much better off being my friend rather than my food," Red pleaded with the voice. "As hungry as poor Red is, he would prefer not to rob the scurrying rodent of its spark of life so soon after our first encounter."

"Why, thanks for that, Tom," the Horatio-rat said, inclining its head. "Those were mighty kind words."

"Oh, thank you, miniscule little rodent," Red said, smiling. "No matter how appetizing you may seem, I shall not partake of your crunchy flesh."

**Oh miserable, ****_miserable_**** little Red...don't fool yourself into thinking you want a friend. You just want to die.**

Red swallowed, anxious that the voice was about to stumble upon his true desire. His wish to be released from his mortal coil. It was true - refusing to eat this rat was just another way of dying: a choice to starve to death rather than live another day. It was not that he did not want to keep this rat around as a companion - he would sincerely appreciate the company - but he did not wish for his life to be sustained any longer. He would rather it ended.

"I've...I have been knocking on Death's door for so many summers and winters now," Red admitted shakily. "An invitation in would be all that I would ever ask."

**Redwood...do we have to ****_hurt_**** you again?**

The miner's eyes welled up with tears. "Please no. No no. Hurting Red is most certainly not a necessity."

Horatio's whiskers twitched as it watched Red curiously. The baby rats behind the man had already left and scattered around the room and Horatio made no move to get them. It had lost interest in them and was now focused solely on the miner before it.

**Then by all means...eat the fucking rat.**

Red hesitated, putting his forehead to the cold ground, fists clenched and sweat budding on his skin. He was moaning through his decayed teeth, fighting the urge to obey the voice and render his attempts at suicide futile. The more seconds passed, the more alluring the very idea seemed to just grab this rat, break its neck, and shove the furry piece of meat into his mouth.

"You're not going to eat me, are you, Tom?" Horatio asked, worry creeping into its voice. "You're too good for that."

"Oh, Horatio," Red murmured sadly, wiping at his eyes. "Your words melt my drum-drumming heart, but it should be made known to thee that I am no saint."

"I don't think that's true. I think you're a very good man."

"Oh, but poor Red is anything but."

**There's a switch in your brain that lets us turn the pain on**, the sinister voice drawled mockingly. Red could _feel_ the voice running its cruel fingers along the curving, dilapidated architecture of his brain, just _barely_ holding back from pushing any buttons or pulling any wires. **Our hand is just inches away from it**...

"Horatio, my friend, go now!" Red shouted, throwing his hands in front of him, trying the shoo the rat away. "There is no time!"

The rat drew back slightly from Red's attempt to scare it away, but it held firm to its position. "Tom..." it began saying.

_**And there goes the switch!**_

Red's spine snapped up straight and his jaw opened up towards the ceiling, blaring a piercingly clarion howl of pain that reflected off the rock walls and filled the miner's personal kingdom with his cries of torment instigated by the ghosts that haunted his head. Screaming in agony, the miner dug his fingers into his skull, his long nails breaking the skin of his scalp.

"MAKE IT STOP!" Red wailed, punching himself in the head while Horatio just sat in front of him, whiskers twitching with curiosity.

A relentless pounding had begun in the center of Red's brain and spread out to his fingers and toes with startling velocity, and there was nothing Red could do to stop it other than beat his head senseless in hopes that he could damage the source of this unbearable agony. He was getting dizzy and wanted to knock himself out so he could sleep through this torture, but eventually his body stopped letting him even try_._ He remained on the ground, paralyzed, the pounding in his head giving way to a fire that leaped across every synapse and burned every nerve. The miner's screams were becoming deafening even to his own ears - so much so that he pushed his gnarled fingers into them so he wouldn't have to listen to what he could only imagine a god's pain must sound like.

**You know what you have to do to make it stop.**

"PLEASE JUST LET ME DIE! KILL ME!" If this malevolent presence in Red's brain had the power to cause him this much suffering, then surely it could just kill him. Pull the plug. End the pain. Sleep forever.

**Well, that wouldn't be as fun, now, would it?**

The walls magnified the volume of Red's pain.

It was so loud in here.

So fucking loud.

And that rat was still loyally standing by, watching Red battle this internal force over which he had no control.

Red...in so much pain...so helpless...so _hungry..._

All strength of will, weakened in an instant.

With a movement as swift as a snakebite Red grabbed hold of Horatio and crammed the rat into his mouth, forcing his rotten teeth to clamp down on the little animal. The rat could barely even let out a squeal of pain nor protest before its skin ruptured and blood flowed onto the miner's tongue.

And just like that, the pain disappeared. Red was left lying on the floor, taking big, heaving breaths, sweat pouring from his forehead. Blood was dribbling down his jawline and filling his beard and before the miner could even regain his composure or understand what had just happened to him, Horatio was fully situated inside Red's stomach.

**There, there now...that wasn't so hard, was it?**

It took another moment before the penny finally dropped and Red screamed again - this time not out of pain, but out of horror. His efforts at death had once again been struck down. The miner would live another day. Choking out terrified little shrieks, he sat up and tried regurgitating the rat, but he had little to no control over the hands he intended to do that with. The voice had taken even this desperate contingency into account.

"Why must you subject me to this pain, this torture..." Red lamented, hugging himself and rocking gently on the floor. "Everything Red has cherished in this earthly dwelling has been taken away, and there has not been a reward at the end of the dark tunnel. There will never be. Why must I wait for something that shall never come to pass?"

**We have plans for you, Red. Plans so large in grandeur your tiny little mind would not be able to fathom it.**

"But I shan't be a pawn in thy game of fate!" he yelled out, his voice filling the mine once again, this time with conviction behind his words. "Plans are naught in the grand scheme of my suffering here, merely a fruity-less excuse to keep poor Red here cowering in the darky-dark like you would do to a puppy you have no patience to raise yourself!"

**We will not so far as stoop to your level of intelligence and explain the plan that's been cultivating for centuries to get to this point. We are so close, and we can't have you dying on us before we reach the pinnacle, you bumbling fuck.**

Snap decision.

Red pushed off the ground and sprinted into the rec room, dashing past the stacks of literature piled across the floor like a miniature city and the desk covered in radio equipment and the lone mattress stained by decades of use. He threw the door open into the bathroom and reached the noose he had fashioned: a length of rope hanging from a pipe in the ceiling. The miner pulled a chair underneath the noose and got onto it, then tied the rope around his neck and prepared to kick the chair out from underneath him.

**What are you...?** The voice sounded slightly worried. Had it not anticipated a snap decision for Red to hang himself?

"I'm kicking the door down, Mr. Reaper," Red said, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. "Sorry if I upset you in doing so."

The chair underneath Red's feet was ready to be taken out. All it needed was a kick - one final kick, and then Red's suffering would be over. The voices in the miner's head would haunt him no longer in the afterlife. He just had to do it before the voice could take control of his body again...

Suddenly, the darkness was eviscerated in front of the miner. The lights in the ceiling all came on at once, underscored by a deep, mechanical groaning that sent little, humming vibrations through the walls and floor. Dim as the lights were, Red had to shut his eyes and cover them with his hands. The light was painful to him - years living in darkness was not going to make adjusting to newfound illumination easy.

And then a sound. Something different that Red had not heard in years: radio feedback. Static. Beeping. Electronic resonance. It was coming from the rec room just outside, from the mass of radio equipment on the desk in the midst of the buildings of Shakespeare and Bronte.

Was it possible? Was there someone - now - on the other end of that radio equipment?

The miner's speculations were cut short when he found his hands unconsciously removing the noose around his neck and his legs involuntarily taking him off the chair. It was too late - hanging himself was no longer an option. He had hesitated too long and now the presence in the miner's head and taken control and prevented yet another attempt at suicide.

**You almost had me worried there, you sneaky sneak.**

For a moment, Red was disillusioned with himself that he had succumbed to the distractions around him and missed his chance to escape his rocky prison yet again, and for a few fleeting seconds he felt like breaking down and crying, but then he remembered what exactly it was that had made him hesitate at the last moment.

Red ran into the rec room and sat down at the desk in front of the collection of radio equipment. They were all in working order, flashing small pinpricks of light and hiccuping bursts of static - somehow, the mine's electricity had gotten turned back on. That could only mean one thing: _someone_ had turned it on. _Someone_ was in the mine.

"The gods have sent Red a knight," Red breathed, a small smile returning to his face. If he couldn't free himself from his mortal coil, then someone else could surely finish the job. He was the princess trapped in the castle - whoever was here with Red in the underground would be his dashing knight coming to rescue him.

Red checked which radio frequencies were currently in use within the mine. There was only one available to broadcast to - most likely, whoever was in the mine right now had access to this particular frequency. Maybe they'd found one of the narrow band communication radios lying around the place.

**If you're thinking that the wayward soul down here is going to help you out of this mess, you've got another thing coming, Redwood.**

"_Are_ you coming to save poor old Red?" the miner asked quietly, as if the distance between him and this stranger could be transcended by the mere gravity of the question.

The miner gripped the microphone firmly in his hand. Flipping the switch to select the only radio frequency available to him, Red held down the button on the mic to broadcast his message to his potential savior.

"Good day? Good day? Can you hear me?"


End file.
